


After

by starsgoblue



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-26
Updated: 2013-06-26
Packaged: 2017-12-16 06:54:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 7,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/859168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starsgoblue/pseuds/starsgoblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post 8x23.  Castiel reunites with the Winchesters at the bunker.  Misunderstandings are addressed and self-worth might finally rise above sea level.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first of many Post-Sacrifice ideas that I came up with. I have fallen in love with writing from Castiel's perspective, though I know I haven't done him justice.

Three nights after the fall of the angels, Castiel is standing on the doorstep of the Men of Letters bunker. He doesn’t know quite how he managed it, though he remembers a stretch of woods and hours of walking which has blistered his heels and dirtied his suit. His throat is crying out for water and his legs are trembling. He should knock, he knows, but his fist stays stubbornly at his side. He doesn’t even know if Sam is still alive – if Dean was able to stop him in time.  


As it turns out he doesn’t have to knock, because the door opens so abruptly that Castiel is forced to sidestep in order to avoid colliding with it. This sudden movement knocks him off balance and he is falling. Dean catches him, sets him back on his feet, and before Castiel quite knows what has happened he is being led inside the bunker, pushed unceremoniously into a chair in the room where the brothers first learned how to cure a demon.  


Dean leaves the room briefly, and Castiel grips the edge of the table, willing his head to stop spinning. Dean returns with a tall glass of water and a bottle of whiskey, sets both on the table. Castiel gulps the water and is inclined to do the same with the bottle, but Dean tugs it from his hand before he can manage more than a mouthful.  


“Easy,” Dean cautions, and Castiel realizes that he knows, somehow, what has happened to him. The whiskey burns his throat and changes the timbre of the buzzing in his head, but he can feel the quivering in his legs begin to lessen. Dean has taken a seat across from him at the table and Castiel finally dares to look up at him, forces himself to meet Dean’s eyes. Dean is staring at him in a way that has become too familiar, in the way that he has every time Castiel has gone away and then returned. It is a look of disbelief, of wonder, of questions he might ask in the coming hours and days. He requires some explanation, Castiel knows, but where to begin? The end seems the only logical choice.  


“Metatron removed my grace as the final ingredient of his spell,” he says, and is relieved to find his voice steadier than expected. He also realizes that this is all he truly needs to say. He could call himself a fool, he could apologize once again for his failures, but he has come to understand that these are things that Dean would not welcome. He hears Dean’s voice in his head – clean up your mess, Cas. He wishes that he could, but it seems impossible now. He can feel the ache in his joints, the prick behind his eyes that is calling him to sleep. He is well and truly useless, part of him wants to be thrown out, and he wills Dean to say something.  


“How is Sam?” he asks, because this question, above all, is sure to elicit a reply. Dean sighs, and Castiel’s throat tightens.  


“He’s healing, I think,” he says slowly, quietly, as though his words will reach Sam and interrupt that delicate process. “He sleeps most of the time.” After that the silence is thick. Castiel starts to feel sharper pricks behind his eyes and recognizes that he is on the verge of tears. He wants Dean to shout at him, to ask him where the hell he was when Sam was in trouble, when he might have had a chance to help, to heal. He wants affirmation that he is useless, so that he might end his life in peace.  
He does not get his wish, for when Dean finally speaks, it is only to ask if Castiel is hungry. The answering pangs from his stomach are answer enough, and Dean brings him a bowl of tomato soup and a cheese sandwich. He also allows Castiel another swallow of whiskey before leaving the room with the bottle. Castiel continues to wait for his anger, but it does not surface, and he is starting to wonder if there is something Dean has not told him.  


Dean shows him to the bathroom, lays out a towel, a worn t-shirt and a pair of boxers, and tells him to shower, he’s filthy. He shows Castiel how to adjust the water temperature, points out the shampoo and the soap, and instructs him to leave his old clothes outside the door for washing. The shower’s spray is hot and soothing, but being unclothed feels strange. He’s never had to wash himself before, either, and he watches with interest as the soap bubbles make their way down the drain. The new clothing is soft against his skin and smells faintly of gun oil, a scent that Castiel has long associated with the Winchesters and with Dean in particular.  


Dean nods his approval as Castiel emerges from the bathroom. Sleeping seems to be the next task he has in mind, for Castiel is then led into what he suspects is Dean’s own room. The wall is lined with guns and knives, John Winchester’s journal rests on the desk, and a neatly made bed takes up a good portion of the rest of the room. A lone chair rests beside the bed. Against his will, Castiel feels wholly at home in this space. He knows he does not deserve the comforts Dean is providing, but he is too tired just now to refuse them.  


“That’s memory foam,” Dean says, nodding toward the bed. “Great stuff. First sleep as a human, you might as well make the best of it.”  


“Thank you,” Castiel manages, but wonders where Dean is going to sleep. Judging from the deep shadows under his eyes, he needs a rest almost as badly.  


“I’ve got a cot set up in Sam’s room,” Dean says in answer to the unspoken question. “In case he needs something, makes it easier. He’s right down the hall, so if you, you know, need anything…”  


“Yes.” Castiel has no intention of accepting the offer, but he appreciates the sentiment.  


“Right. Well, goodnight.” And Dean turns to leave.  


“Goodnight, Dean,” Castiel whispers, because his throat is closing up again. Dean nods his head in acknowledgment and closes the door behind him. Castiel hears the padding of feet down the hall, another door closes, and he is left in silence. He slinks under the covers, defeated, because he has discovered how suffocating the silence can be. He remembers when he could hear Dean’s heartbeats, his prayers, snippets of his thoughts and his dreams. In the silence, he is alone.


	2. Chapter 2

Days pass: Dean makes sure he eats, sleeps, and showers on schedule. He does not allow Castiel to drink to excess and he guards the aspirin bottle like something precious. Castiel is sure now that Dean is hiding something from him, but he also knows that Dean will not be in a state to talk about much of anything until Sam is well. Sam is improving though; by the week’s end he takes his meals downstairs, demands that Dean stop hovering, for God’s sake, and tries to assure Castiel that Dean will come around eventually. 

“Cas, you have to understand…Dean doesn’t just talk. He carries all his issues around until something implodes. He probably thinks this is his fault.” Castiel starts, brow creasing as he absorbs this information. It makes sense: Castiel remembers Purgatory and Dean’s attempts to get him out. He didn’t want to be saved then, and he isn’t sure that he wants to be saved now – and never mind that he isn’t quite sure what Dean is trying to save him from – but he will not allow Dean to bear the burden of this particular mess. Not again. 

“Cas?” Sam sounds concerned, and Castiel has the uncomfortable sensation that Sam is following this train of thought. 

“Yes?” 

“Don’t disappear on us again. Okay? We want you here.” And Castiel nods. It is a silent promise he does not intend to break – at least not until he can talk with Dean and see for himself what Dean wants. 

Several more weeks pass, and Sam recovers. He resumes his morning jogs, insists on making half the grocery runs, and demands that Dean move out of his room. Meanwhile Castiel has mastered the basic rudiments of the human routine. He even cooks breakfast one morning, though the eggs are somewhat overdone. He also becomes adept at eavesdropping, because Dean is still avoiding any subject apart from life inside the bunker. On this particular occasion Sam has just finished a telephone call. 

“Anything?” Dean asks. He’s just finished the breakfast dishes. Sam shrugs. 

“He’s trying to translate the real angel trials, which is a start, but so far he hasn’t been able to find anything on the spell.” Castiel, who is in the next room, presses closer to the wall to listen. They are talking about Kevin, of course. He regrets his rough treatment of the prophet on their last meeting, though his words would seem to have made an impact. From what he understands, Kevin was extremely upset by the brothers’ failure to close the gates of Hell, but his willingness to continue in his duty is encouraging. 

“Man, I don’t know what we’re supposed to do,” Dean is saying. “I mean, Cas is here, but part of him isn’t. And we gotta assume that the angels are going to find him eventually. He can’t defend himself, and they’re going to tear him apart.” “Dean, there’s no way we can get Cas’ grace back, even assuming the spell didn’t use it up. Metatron's pretty much the only one in heaven, now; he has lots of places to hide. We'd have to die in order to get there, and if you recall we barely managed that last time, even with Cas' help.” 

“Well, you know me, Sammy,” Dean says, and it sounds like he’s trying to smile, “I love a challenge.” But Castiel is relieved to note that he sounds resigned, which would indicate he isn’t intending to act on this foolish plan anytime soon. 

“I mean, it sounds like a bad joke,” Dean continues, thoughtfully. “What do you get when you cross the heart of a nephilim with a cupid’s bow and the grace of a nerd angel?” 

“What’s the punch line?” Sam asks. 

“Trouble in paradise.” Neither of them laugh.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean wants Castiel to have his own room, but the night after he takes possession of his own memory foam mattress and the room across the hall from Dean’s, the nightmares begin. He sees his brothers and sisters falling again and again, but that is not the worst of it. His unconscious mind has traveled to other possibilities. He sees himself walking down an empty street with Dean. They have been shopping, perhaps for the clothing Dean is always saying Castiel needs, but so far they have not ventured out to buy. Castiel sees a sister, Ruth, but not before she has seen him. Ruth does not spare him a glance before she has slammed Dean against the wall of an antiques store. 

“So you are the Dean Winchester my brother thinks so highly of,” she snarls. Dean can make no response – she is crushing his chest. 

“Sister, let him go,” Castiel pleads. “I am the reason our people have fallen. It was my misplaced trust, my grace that was the final ingredient in Metatron’s spell. Dean has done nothing.” 

Ruth laughs. “Nothing?” she asks, “I remember Hester’s words very well. We discussed this on many occasions. From the moment you laid a hand on his soul in hell, you were lost to us.” 

“No,” he says, “You don’t understand. I wanted to lead our people to freedom. I wanted them to understand the power of choice. You know we were called to love humanity more than ourselves, even more than our father.” 

“That is not what I mean, Castiel,” she says, turning to face him, “That is not what our father meant. Do you not wonder why it is your grace that was needed to complete the spell? Mine would not have done. It is because you have been corrupted. He has destroyed you.” 

“No,” Castiel says again, “He has not destroyed me at all. His soul is the brightest I have ever encountered. He is innocent.” 

“You have abandoned your friends, your family, and for what? You know as well as I do that what you feel for him is forbidden. You know that you must die for it.” 

“Kill me, then,” Castiel says, “But let Dean go.” 

“I don’t think so, “Ruth says thoughtfully, “I think perhaps my message will be clearer if he dies here and now. In any case, he has encouraged your delusions. Perhaps he has even welcomed them.” 

“What do you mean?” 

Ruth smiles at him, shakes her head. “Well, Castiel, if you don’t know I am not about to tell you. And now, there will be no more talk.” 

An angel blade descends. Castiel cries out.


	4. Chapter 4

He keeps screaming, even when his eyes open and his sleep-dulled senses try to tell him that he is in the room and bed where he fell asleep. He wakes the brothers, of course. Dean gets to him first, though he has to duck from the blind punches Castiel is throwing in the dark. Soon enough Dean is able to catch both of his wrists and pin them firmly against his chest while Castiel’s struggles and shouts slowly cease. Sam turns on the light, which brings reality firmly back. And Dean is alive, though at present he looks as terrified as Castiel feels. 

Dean slowly releases his grip on Castiel’s wrists. Castiel takes advantage of this freedom by throwing his arms around Dean’s neck. Sam leaves the room after saying something about a glass of water. Dean awkwardly leans into the hug, hands coming to rest on the small of Castiel’s back. They break apart when Sam comes back with the water, which Castiel gulps gratefully. 

“What happened, man?” Dean asks, once Castiel is hydrated and breathing normally. Lie, he thinks frantically, I must lie. But he’s told too many lies in the past few months, and he thinks that maybe the truth will help determine the nature of the spell. He isn’t sure how powerful his siblings are at the moment, and specifically whether they still possess the ability to dream walk, but the sentiments of the dream feel very real to him. He wonders if Dean will understand. 

Sam seems unfazed by Castiel’s confessions. He seems instead to have devoted himself to gauging Dean’s reactions to them. For his part, Dean is strangely wordless, much as he was the night Castiel arrived at the bunker. His expression is mostly one of disbelief, and Castiel notes that he has made his hands into fists that rest on his lap. The knuckles are white. 

“I’ll call Kevin in the morning,” Sam says, after Castiel has finished, and several minutes have passed in silence. He gets no response. 

“Okay, well…goodnight,” he continues, backing slowly from the room, then making his way briskly down the hall. Neither man moves. 

“Dean—“ Castiel begins hesitantly, and is relieved when Dean finally looks up, “Do you think we could talk in your room? This one is – impersonal.” Dean still does not speak, but he nods, and they make their way across the hall. Castiel is comforted by the presence of Dean’s belongings. He runs his palm along the edge of the desk. Dean shuts the door behind them, and they sit across from each other on the bed. Again, it is Castiel who speaks. 

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, Dean, but it is better that you know everything. I can’t be of much use to you any longer, but I want to help in any way I can.” 

Dean is shaking his head. “Use? Cas, you don’t even… Before you came here, I thought you were dead. Do you understand me?” he is close to shouting now, “I have watched almost everyone I care about die because of me, in one way or another. And now you tell me I’m the one who broke you. I’m the reason your grace is gone. I’m the reason you can’t protect yourself. Why would you want to be of use to me?” 

“Dean, that isn’t your—“ 

“Responsibility? Well, then, whose is it, Cas?” 

“It’s mine, Dean. I believed Metatron even when you cautioned me against it. I allowed my affections for you to develop, though I knew they were forbidden and that you wouldn’t welcome –“ 

“What?!” Dean explodes, and Castiel jumps at the ferocity of it. He wonders vaguely how much of this conversation Sam is overhearing, if Sam could tell him what Dean means by this. Dean himself seems to have a difficult time elaborating, and Castiel suspects that this might be because Dean is currently too furious to speak. He is relieved when Dean takes a few calming breaths, which turn his complexion from an alarming red to an approximation of its normal hue. 

“Cas,” he says, making an obvious effort to keep his voice level, “You really don’t get it, do you?” 

He hadn’t, but when Dean looks over at him, mostly exasperated but also a little amused, he begins to see things a lot more clearly. 

“Oh,” he manages. He isn’t sure how to feel. He’s gotten used to the idea of loving Dean from a distance, content to watch him build a family, living an “apple pie” life. Dean’s reciprocation was a factor he had not considered, and of course that sort of life is well beyond their reach for the time being. 

“That’s all you got?” Dean asks, his tone considerably lighter than it had been a minute ago. Castiel understands: they are still faced with the same mess, but he cannot deny it feels cathartic to be on the same page for once. 

“Well, I am curious about one thing,” Castiel ventures. 

“Yeah?” 

“The drinks, the aspirin. Why do you hide them?” 

Dean sighs. “Well, remember when Zachariah zapped me into 2014 because he thought it would change my mind about Michael?” Castiel nods; that one had been close. 

“You were different there. I mean, you were human, which was one thing, but you were also stoned off your ass all the time. The first time I met you there you were planning an orgy, and the last time you were getting killed courtesy of a diversion by future me.” 

“So what I figure,” Dean continues, “Is you have an addictive personality. And I’d really rather you didn’t, you know, feed it.” Castiel starts to speak, but Dean cuts him off. 

“And if you’re going to say that this isn’t my responsibility, save it. We may not be safe from the angels, but I am not going to lose you inside your own head again, okay?” 

“Okay,” he says, and Dean seems satisfied. 

They prepare for bed. There is no further discussion about sleeping arrangements, but it is strange to be in this kind of proximity, Castiel thinks. Dean feels it too, he knows, because he’s lying stiffly a good ten inches away, staring up at the ceiling. Strange how even now, after they know what they are feeling, they still don’t know how to touch.


	5. Chapter 5

They figure it out, though. It would seem that their bodies are the best teacher, because no matter how awkwardly they lie together in the night, by morning they have inexplicably become a tangle of limbs. A few nights later Dean crosses the gap between them and throws an arm over Castiel. 

“The hell with it,” he says, and Castiel is sure Dean can hear his heart beating. 

Castiel initiates the kissing. He isn’t quite sure how it happens, but one night he and Dean are cuddling – Sam supplied the word, when Castiel asked what he should call it, before firmly requesting that Castiel tell him no further physical details of his relationship with his brother – content for once with silence, and Castiel is struck with need so strong he misses a breath. Dean’s lips are inches away, and he needs only to lean forward to claim them. 

The kiss is unlike anything Castiel has experienced as a human. He supposes he was expecting Dean to hesitate, but he only grabs the back of Castiel’s neck, forcing him closer. And they have never been this close, and by now it is midsummer, both men are sweating, and their skin seems to be fusing together. 

When they pull away, Castiel can feel a dull ache in his lips, which seem to have swollen. He is also having a difficult time catching his breath, especially when he sees Dean is smiling sleepily up at him, an expression Castiel has seen only a handful of times. Words fail him just then, but Castiel knows that this is the first time he has felt truly at home inside this body. He resents its limitations, curses his clumsiness with the weapons Dean and Sam are training him to use, but the knowledge that it is he who has chased away the shadows behind Dean’s eyes, if only for tonight, makes him wonder how he ever could have thought that it was only his grace Dean needed.


	6. Chapter 6

Castiel is beginning to feel restless, which is hardly surprising, considering he’s only ventured out of the bunker for food runs, and one trip to the thrift store, where he was outfitted with an assortment of sturdy hunter’s clothing and boots. Dean has cleaned his suit and trench coat, which will do for formal attire. The next run is for an anti possession tattoo, and an approximation of the sigils he had once carved into the brothers’ ribs. Castiel is reluctant to receive the latter, because part of him wants to believe that he can still offer some assistance to his siblings. But he also knows that the removal of his grace has severed his connection to them. He must be unimportant to them now, except in the context of the revenge they might be seeking against him. 

He still hears the brothers whispering about the trials and spells on occasion. It seems Castiel’s intuition (or Ruth’s; he still isn’t entirely sure) about the reason his grace was needed is correct, but the tablet is slow to give up the knowledge of how to reverse the spell. Meanwhile, the angels seem to be hidden, and there are other hunts to pursue. Sam, equally restless, believes he has found a rogue vampire case in Topeka. Castiel is going with them, a feat he only manages after Dean makes him behead about a dozen wooden dummies – another relic from the Men of Letters – with a machete. By then he has gotten used to the feel of the weapon in his hands. He wonders, though, if it can ever feel as right as when he could rely on his strength and the power to smite. 

Castiel still needs to fine-tune his “people skills,” so he falls behind as the brothers talk their way into the morgue. He feels a strange pang as he looks down at the corpse, a man who looks to be in his mid-thirties. Drained of color, except for the wound that has torn open his neck, the man still bears more than a little resemblance to Dean. He knows the condition of the corpse confirms the nature of the case (and sees the brothers nodding at each other over the table, expressions carefully controlled), and he has to remind himself that the brothers have been in far more danger than a lone vampire presents; he should know – he’s sent them into that danger with varying degrees of intent on more than a few occasions. 

It takes several days, but once they track the vamp to her current home, an abandoned barn, there is the matter of getting close enough to her to inject a vial of dead man’s blood, stunning her just before the beheading. Dean makes the first attack. He cannot get a good hold on her at first, and is slammed into a wood bench, then a wall. This happens in seconds, and Castiel hardly has time to react before Dean pins her down at last, and Sam plunges the needle into her neck. It comes to him to deliver the blow with the machete, and he is relieved when he is able to do it with a quick and brutal strength, just as he practiced. 

“Hey, Cas, want to try your hand at stitches?” Dean asks when they arrive at the cheap motel room they have taken a few miles away. Sam’s going off to get a late dinner. Dean is peeling off his jacket to reveal a deep gash on the inside of his arm, probably from one of the nails protruding from the crudely made bench in the barn. Castiel struggles against a tightening in his throat, but he nods. Soon needle and thread, a bottle of rubbing alcohol, and a damp washcloth are set in front of him, and Dean instructs him on what to do. He hisses as Castiel wipes away the excess blood and douses the wound with the alcohol, but nods encouragingly. But when Castiel tries to pick up the needle Dean grabs his hand. 

“Your hands are shaking,” he says, and Castiel looks down to see that this is true. 

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly, but Dean shakes his head. 

“No, man. Look, I know all this is still weird for you; I mean, losing your mojo and – and your home. Having to do things the slow way. I know this reminds you of healing, so if you want to wait for Sam to get back, it’s okay.” He still has a gentle grip on Castiel’s hand. 

“No, I want to help you,” Castiel says firmly, “It’s just…I’m causing you pain.” 

“Yeah, that’s usually how human healing works, Cas,” Dean says, and now he sounds a little amused, “You’ve got to poke and prod just to get at what’s wrong, and the usual method of making it better hurts like hell. Trust me, though, stitches are one of the milder concerns; broken bones are a new kind of hell. All of which, trust me, you’re going to experience for yourself if you’re dumb enough to stick with us for long.” 

“And then you’ll fix me,” Castiel finishes, ignoring the if for now; they don’t have the hours they need to discuss the implications of that statement. His hands aren’t shaking anymore; he suspects Dean was trying to distract him with his speech. 

“Something like that,” Dean responds, and gives Castiel’s hand a final squeeze before letting go. “Now get on with it, I’m bleeding again.” 

And so Castiel does, taking care to make the stitches neat and even. Dean grits his teeth in obvious effort to keep his flinching to a minimum, occasionally murmuring further instructions. Soon enough it is done, and Castiel cleans up the first aid materials while Dean washes the blood from his shirts. Sam gets back with some burgers and beer, and the three of them watch a procedural cop show, scoffing at how easy the main characters have it.


	7. Chapter 7

Castiel is beginning to suspect Dean was right about his “addictive personality.” When he settles on something that gives him comfort, something he really enjoys, he tends to overindulge. Dean is still careful with liquor and pills, but he seems unsure of what to do when Castiel watches six straight hours of Wiley Coyote and Roadrunner cartoons and polishes off an entire case of White Castles. On this particular occasion, it turns out that what Dean has to do is supply him with mouthwash when the burgers come back up and make him go to bed when his eyes start swimming from staring at the television. He’s unable to look at another piece of meat for over a week, and Sam gleefully supplies armloads of produce; Dean stabs his salads like they have personally insulted him. 

Then there is the kissing. He discovers that kisses don’t have to be rough, like his experience with the Pizza Man, and subsequently with Meg. They also don’t have to be chaste and brief, like those he shared with Daphne. The first kiss with Dean was hard, desperate, as though both of them feared it would be their only chance. For now, though, time stretches out before them, uncertain. They fill it with slow, gentle kisses in the morning and just before they go to sleep. There are more desperate kisses: after Castiel receives his first injury on a hunt, a gash on his side that results in an alarming amount of blood loss and thirty-five stitches, or when Dean comes within a hair’s breadth of being bitten by a werewolf. Or when the slow kisses turn into something Castiel can’t name, but which makes his heart pound, his breath short, and his pants tight. 

There are many aspects Castiel still fails to understand about human life, like why he constantly has to lie on hunts about who he is and what his purposes are. He’s used to being direct, efficient, and even brutal, when he has to be. He doesn’t know why cars aren’t faster or why Sam insists on letting his hair grow out, even though it’s constantly in his face and he has to blow-dry it to be presentable to the people they’re lying to that day. He knows about the mechanics of sex, though; he knows that it is meant for pleasure as well as for procreation, and he even knows about various positions and types. He could hardly miss these things in the long years of his existence, though he’s tuned out most of the crude innuendos. He knows that sex is typically initiated after a series of passionate kisses. He knows that most people are, in one way or another, motivated by sex. And he knows that Dean, who tends to express most emotions physically, is one of those people. 

Which makes it all the more puzzling that Dean hasn’t initiated any sort of sexual activities to follow the something Castiel can’t name. He still reads Busty Asian Beauties and occasionally watches anime, not in front of Castiel but not secretly either, because sometimes he leaves the magazines lying around and he has the anime streaming site bookmarked. Castiel isn’t really threatened by these activities, but they do make him wonder if Dean is uninterested in sex with men, which by extension now includes him. He is surprisingly saddened by this idea, given the fact that he’s always found the sex act mindlessly repetitive, almost a waste of time. But he also thinks of it in the way it was originally intended; that is, as an expression of love. And that is the basis of his current interest in it. 

Castiel knows that Dean loves him. This he has proof of, because Dean says it in the darkness one night when he clearly believes Castiel to be sleeping, as indeed he nearly was. And Castiel does nothing to dissuade him from that assumption, because he knows that Dean never says those words to anyone – not even to Sam, and he knows how deeply love runs between the brothers. He lies awake in wonder, trying to keep his breathing deep and even, wondering if this is the first time Dean has said this to him in the night, or if he says it regularly. Of course, this is something he’s known on some level since the night of his nightmare; he simply never expected to have it confirmed by words. 

Dean once told Castiel not to talk about porn, so he figures that this is not the best way to broach the topic of sex. Besides that, none of the couples he watches seem to be very loving, because there is more spanking and slapping for no apparent reason, and after what happened in the crypt he cannot think of touching Dean in that way, nor does he find it appealing to think of being treated in that way himself. He decides to take a more academic approach, which leads him to articles with titles containing the words homoeroticism and sadomasochism and repression. He’s in the middle of a very disturbing article about the use of electric probes on the genitals to discourage arousal caused by homosexual images when Dean walks in. 

It’s too late to pretend he’s not doing exactly what he’s been doing, so he stays still as Dean leans toward him to peer over his shoulder. Dean reads the titles on the open browser windows, and his stoic expression tells Castiel nothing. Finally, though, he leans over and shuts the laptop, squeezing Castiel’s shoulder until Castiel turns to meet his eyes. 

“Talk to me,” Dean says, and Castiel does.


	8. Chapter 8

He tells Dean everything, from what he’s overheard about the angel tablet to his complete confusion about human rituals and relationships to what he heard him say that night in the darkness. He tells him how it feels when they kiss, about his misgivings about and new acceptance of sex, and his questions about what Dean wants. He ends in this room, with his attempts to research in hopes of discovering this answer for himself. 

“Would it have been easier,” he concludes, “if I were to have taken a female vessel?” The pause that follows is long. 

“No,” Dean says finally. Castiel hopes he will elaborate, but there is another long pause, and Castiel shifts uncomfortably. 

“You’re the best friend I’ve ever had,” Dean says, so quietly that Castiel has to lean closer to hear him clearly. “And every time I thought you were gone, and you came back, I thought, ‘This is the time I’ll tell him.’ And then you’d save my ass again somehow, and I could see you didn’t need me at all. And then when I finally said I needed you, all you ever did was disappear again. 

“Sometimes I wake up mornings and expect to find out that you’ve zapped off somewhere. I still expect you to heal right up when you get hurt, and I wonder what I’ll say when I pray to you after you’ve gone off on some heavenly mission. Sometimes I think you’re just going to stand there when I kiss you and you’ll say that’s not what you’re here for. And then sometimes we’ll be lying in bed, making out, and I’ll get the urge to touch you. And then you stare at me and I remember that I’ve ruined everything else you are. And I just can’t.” 

Dean has turned his face away, but Castiel can tell by the difficulty he had forming these last words that he is crying. He wants to comfort him somehow, but he also knows that Dean is not often this open about his feelings. They had better address all misunderstandings now. 

“So it isn’t my gender that is the problem,” he clarifies, “It’s because I was an angel?” Dean nods, regaining most of his composure. 

“And you still think that it is your fault I lost my grace? You think you’ve ruined me?” He does not wait for an answer this time; Dean’s continued refusal to look at him is answer enough. 

“What I know,” he continues, “is that my brothers and sisters have always looked upon me as fundamentally flawed, a defect on our father’s ‘assembly line,’ if you will. When she threatened me for the tablet, Naomi told me I have never done as I was told. She wiped my mind and conscience clean again and again over the centuries. And so I was a soldier, time and again, so full of pride in the belief that I was following my father’s orders. 

“When the orders came down that the Righteous Man must be raised from perdition, hundreds of us fought our way through that place, and many of us were lost. I was first to reach you. I laid a hand on you, raised you, and remade your body. I was very eager to speak to you, as you know. But you were much different than I had expected. You did not believe you were worthy of any greater purpose, and yet you spoke to me just as if I were one of you. You would not take orders. It was all very frustrating.” Dean chuckles softly behind him, and Castiel smiles before continuing. 

“I admired you, though. You believed so strongly in your own race; you wanted so badly to save them all. But I still had my orders, and I was punished very severely when I threatened to disobey. Then when you confronted me and called me soulless and spineless, I could feel how true those words were. I came back because I knew I had to help you, because for one reason or another I could not stand to lose your friendship. And every time you failed or lost faith…even then I could not leave you. I didn’t know why. 

“When I betrayed you by going after the souls in purgatory, I convinced myself that I was doing the right thing by not involving you. You had been through so much, and I thought I could help you. Even when I saw how much I had hurt you I continued on; I nearly killed Sam. And then I devastated heaven; I completely ignored everything you ever taught me to believe in, and I left you to clean up my mess, as you said. 

"It wasn’t until I was in purgatory and could think clearly again that I recognized my feelings for what they were. Romantic love is something that I have watched develop for centuries, but of course every story is different. This one was, I think, quite unprecedented. My first instinct was to suppress these feelings, and when you found me and told me you had a way out, and left me with no other choice but to follow you there, I knew I must let you go at the last moment and never see you again. That would be yet another part of my penance. 

"And yet, once I did get out, my first instinct was to find you. I didn’t know where else I could go – certainly not to heaven. I wanted to stay with you, but you know, of course, that Naomi had other plans for me. I killed Samandriel under her orders, and later many demons after I was asked to find the tablet. I submitted to her training.” Here he pauses; these are memories he does not wish to revisit. 

“Training?” Dean prompts, after silence has fallen for a few moments. 

“To kill you. She made a thousand replicas of you, and I killed them all, until I could do it perfectly. I was ready, and only then was I sent to you, told to lie about my true purposes. I hoped to take the tablet without harming you, but you, rightly, did not trust me. And so she told me to kill you. I think I would have done it, despite everything, if you had not spoken when you did. Naomi offered me a choice between you and heaven. I was greedy; I tried to take both. I would not kill you, but neither could I let you have the tablet. I was still an angel, and I owed a great debt for what I had done to heaven. I thought perhaps I could atone by keeping the tablet safe. 

“And of course you know most of what happened then. The angels who were hunting me slaughtered all the people in a diner to force me out of hiding. Crowley caught up with me as well, and he took the tablet. I went to you for help, again. I knew you would be angry with me, but I had every intention of staying to assist you with the trials, if I could. But then I tried to buy groceries, and Metatron met me there. And he offered me a chance to fix everything. I took it, and I became someone else’s tool, again. 

“I was so eager. I didn’t consider how comparatively simple the trials were, when Sam was so affected by them. I didn’t listen to Naomi, not even to you; I couldn’t. I was so close. I suppose Metatron knew of my attachment, though perhaps not that you were the object of it. It is certainly something Naomi was aware of. One of the first things he told me, after he had taken my grace, was that I should take a wife and ‘make babies.’ And then I was cast out into the woods. I walked to a hilltop. I forced myself to watch everything. I watched until the sky was dark again and I was alone. 

“And then I went to find you for a final time. I was sure you would not forgive me. I didn’t even know if Sam had survived. I wanted to die for what I had done, but you took me in instead. I thought perhaps it would be best to leave again, once I had enough strength. But…I wanted to know what you wanted. And you know everything else, though perhaps my motives were not always so clear. 

“So you see, you did not ‘ruin’ me. You opened my eyes to the true purpose of my existence, which was to protect my father’s creation; you taught me that I have a will beyond any orders I may receive. It was only natural I should want to stay with you, and that I should come back to you, again and again. What I know is that every time I have left or betrayed you, whether it be out of some misguided sense of protecting you or protecting the angels’ secrets, no good has come of it. 

“Dean, we are family. I love you, and I will stay with you. That is the choice I will make whether I can recover my grace or not.” 

Castiel is crying now, something he hasn’t given into since the night of his fall, and never before then. Dean holds him; he hasn’t said a word, but Castiel understands – he sees that Dean’s eyes are full, too. They are finally where they need to be; they can love each other as equals, with no secrets between them. It would be a small comfort, perhaps, to anyone else facing what they know they must in the months ahead, but another thing Dean has taught him is that sometimes it is better to save what they can in the present. Tonight could be their last night on earth, and in the knowledge of this, they will fill it with each other. It won’t be nearly enough, but perhaps good things really do happen. They are due, are they not?


	9. Epilogue

The narrator would like to give Castiel and Dean a well-deserved moment of privacy and peek in on Sam Winchester for a moment. He is downstairs, attempting to sleep on a sofa that does not fully accommodate him, but he’s still very thankful he’s safely out of earshot of the activities that are commencing upstairs. He’s given Cas and Dean lots of space in the past few months, hoping to avoid another situation in which he walks in on them staring at each other like they’re trying to decide if they should jump each other or if they should just have half a conversation that leaves more issues than it resolves. 

Sam is happy for them both, though he’s fairly certain he’s going to need to change rooms. Luckily, space and distance isn’t really an issue in the bunker. But in all seriousness, Dean has never allowed himself to love or be loved without putting up a fight. He’s an exercise in self-sacrifice; hell, they all are, but Dean takes the cake. Dean’s never been able to form attachments the way Sam has – to make a life for himself outside of his family. The time he tried with Lisa seemed only to make him more wary of doing so after it failed. 

Sam thinks Cas will be different. If there really is a light at the end of the tunnel for them all, he likes to think that Cas is Dean’s. Because Dean doesn’t let Sam worry about him. He doesn’t talk to Sam about most things that bother him. But he talks to Cas, clearly – they’ve been in their room most of the day. It’s a dynamic that used to make Sam jealous, but logically he knows that there exists a difference between brothers and lovers, and that there is room for all of them here. And anyway, Cas has been an extension of their family for so long now that he can’t imagine him not here, or at least on his way back to them. 

And damn it, they really are due for something good to happen.


End file.
